“I just…I wanted our first time to be…romantic. I had this whole thing planned, you know? I’d give you a massage and you’d take a bath and I’d make you come a few times, and then in the morning we’d have slow sleepy romantic sex.”
She grins, bubbles around her chin, rosebud tips of her breasts poking up out of the water, a thin scrim of bubbles sliding down the slopes. “I still want that, so you’d better deliver now that you’ve promised me that.” She keeps rubbing me with her toes, wherever her feet reach. “But. You need to understand something.”
“What’s that?”
“That I’m just as needy and horny as you are. That I want you every bit as much as you want me. That I’m not just…allowing you to do things to me. Or giving you little moments, little pieces. It’s not an exchange, or a transaction. Like, you gave me an orgasm so I suppose I’ll let you have one, too. Or, you went down on me so I guess I’ll let you have sex with me.” She smirks, sniffs a laugh. “I want you. I want things with you. Since things started with you, I’ve had fantasies of you. I’ve struggled with that, too. That it’s you. That I shouldn’t want you. That I shouldn’t be attracted to you. But I am, Thai. I do. I can’t get enough. I really can’t. I’m still all quivery from the last orgasm, but I already want another.”
I grin. “I can oblige.”
“I know you can. And believe me, I invite you to take every available opportunity to make me come. Give me as many orgasms as is humanly possible, please. I want them, all of them. Wake me up with them, tease me, surprise me, challenge me, dare me. I want it all—you make me want things I didn’t know were possible. You make me feel…crazy, daring, wild. Thai, you bring out the best in me, too. More than you can know.” She shakes her head, emotion swirling in her eyes, in her expression. “I was…I think I was only half living until you came along.”
I can reach her sex, so I trail my fingers along her seam. Tease her, touch her. “It doesn’t seem possible, but I’ll take it. I’ll earn the trust and faith you’re showing me.”
She sits up, more water splashing over the sides. Takes my hands and grips hard. “Thai, no. Listen, okay, listen. Like I said earlier, the past is past.”
“I know, but—”
She shakes her head. “No, Thai. There’s no earning.” Her expression is fraught, wild blue depths blazing with meaning and intensity and purpose. “Maybe you need to hear the words—and maybe I need to say them: I forgive you, Matthais.”
I’m choked, eyes burning. Duck my head, instinctively. “Thank you, Delia. I…”
She forces my head up. “No hiding.”
I blink. But I can’t hide it. And she doesn’t flinch away from my emotions. If anything, it draws her closer. Opens her up yet more. I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say,” I whisper, eventually.
“How about you tell me what you were thinking about earlier.”
I duck my head and laugh, then meet her eyes again. “I’ll try.” I go back to what I was thinking about—acceptance and affection and all that. “So, warning…it’s pretty deep. Maybe even heavy. Definitely personal and…I don’t know. It’s a lot.”
“I can handle it, whatever it is.”
“I know you can. It’s just stuff I’ve never really thought about too much, and certainly never shared.”
“But you’re gonna share it with me?”
I nod. “I am.”
She settles backward again, water up to her chin. “I’m listening.”
“So, my parents.” I sigh and keep going. Once the words start, it gets easier. “They care about me. I grew up with a sort of understanding that Mom and Dad care about me. Right? Like, they’re my parents, of course they care about me. But…they’re not…emotive people.”
She laughs. “No kidding. I have noticed this.” She tilts her head to one side. “Funny thing is, in some way, I probably know them better than you do. Your parents, I mean. You left for college and you rarely came back. Whereas I’ve lived next door to them my whole life, and I see them pretty frequently, when they’re in town. They come over for drinks and we play pinochle.” Her face falls. “Or, we did, before Dad passed. Hard to play five-hand pinochle with only four people. And it wouldn’t be the same.”
She brightens, shakes her head to banish the sad reverie. “Anyway. Sorry, I hijacked the moment. You were saying?”
I smile at her. “So anyway…they never said that they cared. Or rarely. Certainly not Dad.” I shrug. “They showed me in other ways. Bought me literally anything and everything. Took me on vacations. Put me in karate and fencing lessons and riding lessons and all that shit, whatever it was I expressed interest in. But I never had to stick with anything. If I wanted to quit because I was bored, I quit.” I laugh, wave a hand. “Point is, that’s how they showed me affection. Buying me stuff, giving me what I wanted, when I wanted it. They…physical affection wasn’t something they did either. Once I was too big to be carried, and too old to need hugs and kisses when I hurt myself, that kind of stuff stopped.”
“That’s…actually really sad, Thai. Everyone needs hugs and kisses.”
I nod. “I’m not excusing, or even explaining, except maybe to myself. Maybe that’s why I turned to hooking up the way I did. Why I’ve never had a real relationship. Showing emotions, talking about emotions—it’s hard for me. Accepting it is even harder.”
“So, when I touch you, like nonsexual affection…”
I shrug, uncomfortable and hot under my skin and working hard to keep the honesty going, to give her the real me when so much of me wants to shut down, to distract, to avoid. “It’s…I don’t know what to do with it, Dee. It makes me feel like I’m…” I shake my head, searching for the right expression. “It makes my heart feel like it’s breaking open. But…because it’s so full. It’s kind of scary but…”
She smiles, beautiful, tender—that daring, emotional smile which makes me feel like my whole soul is going to overflow, burst out of my skin. Because it’s so lush and so lovely and real and beautiful and delicate and soft and it’s meant for me, and I want to hide from it as much as I want to hoard it and inscribe it on my mind and my heart so I never forget that she can smile at me this way.
“Thai, I’m noticing something, here.”
“Okay?”
“You used the word ‘care.’” An arch of her eyebrow. “Your parents care for you. Showed you they care.”
I’m not following. Or…that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of, at least. “Okay, and?”
“And, you’re stopping short.”
I swallow hard. “Of what?”
“The correct word.” She rubs her forehead, and leaves bubbles trailing down her face; I brush them away, only to make it worse, and we both laugh. “I know my parents love me, Thai…my dad loved me. He showed me he loved me, told me he loved me.”
My skin feels too tight for my face. My heart is hammering so hard it hurts. Under the water, my hands shake. “Dee…”
She sits upright, scuttles closer to me, hooks her legs around my waist and hers around mine. Clings to me, our soapy bodies slippery and warm against each other. “So when I do and say things that show you I…care…” She runs her hand over my hair. Soap trickles down my neck. Her breath is light and warm on my nose. Her breasts are soft against my chest. Her thighs squeeze my waist, like a hug. “That makes you uncomfortable?”
“Not uncomfortable, I just…it’s unfamiliar.” Truth requires bravery. “I crave it, Delia—but it’s scary.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I’m not asking anything of you—and listen, it’s new and different and scary for me, too. We can take this slow.”
“That’s what’s scary, though, Delia—it’s not going slow. For me, in here.” I tap my chest.
She cups the back of my neck. “I know. Me too.”
“I know what it’s developing into, and I just…I can only do my best to be man enough to show you how I feel. To maybe even…say it.” I laugh, a sharp huff. “Go
d, why is that so hard?”
“Because it’s unfamiliar and it’s vulnerable. It means I could reject you, or somehow otherwise hurt you. I could change my mind. I could meet someone better.” When my face shows my obvious turmoil at this, she just smiles and clings tighter, with arms and legs. “But I won’t.”
“No?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. I won’t change my mind about you. I won’t reject you or hurt you—at least not on purpose, but I’m no more perfect than you are, and at some point I’m going to do or say something that’s gonna hurt you. But it won’t be on purpose.” She bites my chin, then kisses my lips. But before I can kiss her back, she keeps talking. “And I sure as hell won’t ever meet anyone better.”
That blows my mind. “You’re crazy.”
She nods. “Yeah.” A nuzzle of her nose against mine; this is the stuff that makes me feel like my heart could explode. “About you. You’re amazing, Thai.”
I shake my head, but it’s in amazement, not denial; I don’t even know how we suddenly got here, to this place of tenderness and open affection, but I like it. A fucking lot.
“It feels amazing to hear you say that,” I say.
“I mean it.”
I rest my forehead on hers. “I care about you, Delia. A whole hell of a lot.”
“I know.” A smirk, a laugh. “I care a whole hell of a lot about you too, Thai.” The smirk turns into a grin. “I think I’m ready for that massage, now.”
I stand, step out of the tub, bubbles and water streaming off me—and the look on her face as she watches me tells me her words about wanting me were not idle, or empty. The appreciation and desire on her face is undeniable.
I towel off quickly, then wrap the towel around my waist, but Delia has other ideas.
“Leave it off,” she says, taking it and tossing it aside. “What’s the point in a sexy massage if I don’t get to look at you naked.”
“As you wish,” I say, and then take a fresh towel.
She stands up and I lift her from the tub and take my time drying her, paying perhaps inordinate amounts of attention to drying her breasts and buttocks.
Eventually, she laughs. “I think I’m dry, now, Thai.”
I give her left breast one last scrub. “There. Now you’re dry.”
Setting her rose on the sink, I replace the books into the box and put it on the floor of the bedroom just outside the door, and then I drape another clean, dry towel over the massage table. I guide her to it, lay her down on her stomach, arms at her sides.
For the next forty minutes, I use everything I know about massages, which, admittedly, isn’t much, but I do my best, beginning at her scalp and ending at her toes, front and back. Slowly, her body loosens and relaxes, and she goes heavy, limp. When I’ve massaged all her muscle groups, she’s on her back, breathing slowly, eyes closed. Not asleep, I don’t think, but close.
Her eyes flicker. A tiny, faint smile curves her lips. “Do you do happy endings?”
“You’re my happy ending,” I say.
“Tease.”
I bend over her, standing at the side of the table, and touch my lips to her. “What kind of a massage did you think this was?”
She hums, a relaxed version of a laugh. “You did mention the possibility of an orgasm as part of this romantic massage experience.”
“I think I remember saying something along those lines.”
She grins, licks her lips. “I’m not too proud to beg, Thai.”
I touch my lips to hers again. “You never have to beg, Delia. I’m the one who should beg you for the privilege of being allowed to touch you.”
She grins, following me with her eyes as I round to the end of the table, running my hands up her shins, to her thighs. “Go on.”
I lean over her, kiss her knees, her quads. “Delia, I beg you, please, let me make you come.”
She parts her legs, draws her feet up to her butt. “I’ll allow it. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?” I ask, playing along.
“You may only use your mouth.”
“Challenge accepted.” I haul her to the very end of the table, fold a towel under my knees.
Grab her ankles and drape her legs over my shoulders, and then cup her ass, lift her. She shivers, watching, eager, anticipating. Biting her lip, hips tilting up. Flexing up toward my mouth as I bring my lips to her inner thighs, teasing nibbles and licks and kisses upward toward her center.
“Please, Thai—please. I want it so bad. Give me that mouth, Thai—you make me so crazy.”
I moan at her words. “You know what makes me crazy? You, talking dirty. That makes me go nuts.”
Her teeth clamp on her lower lip as I abandon the pretense of teasing her. “You like it when I talk dirty?” She gasps when I flick my tongue against her. “When I tell you how much I love the things you do with your mouth?”
“Drives me crazy.” I lock my lips over her clit, flick my tongue against her, and she moans.
“Ohhh god, Thai. Your mouth—your tongue. Fuck, oh god, don’t stop.”
“I won’t stop till you beg me to stop.”
She knots her fingers in my hair, and her hips flex. Tilt, grind. Her moans are loud and wild and abandoned, wanton and free. “Thai, yes, god…don’t stop. Oh fuck, that feels so good.”
“What feels good? Tell me. Say it.”
“Your mouth on me.”
“Where? On you where?” I tease, now, light flicks, slow circles.
“On my pussy.”
I growl, and give her what she wants, my tongue, fast and stabbing and licking until her hips are gyrating.
“Thai, oh god…ohgodohgod—” Her eyes wrench open. Meet mine. “Fingers. Need—your fingers. Inside me. Do—do the thing with your fingers while you lick my pussy.”
“You said only my mouth.” I smirk.
“I was an idiot,” she says. “It sounded hotter than it is. The thing with your fingers…I fucking need it. It makes me come so hard.”
I slide a finger inside her and curl, massage where she likes it best.
“More,” she demands. “More fingers.”
I laugh and oblige. Two middle fingers, deep inside her, curling and plunging, and now she’s moaning nonstop, and her hips are rolling to drive her sex against my mouth. Her legs lock around my neck, toes hooked around her heels, and I lift her, help her move, bring her closer. She’s frantic, soon, chasing the edge, and I push her over with everything I’ve got.
When she starts screaming, I moan. Her hips flex madly, grinding against me as I pursue her farthest extremes of ecstasy, making her screams break into moans, and then breaking her moans down into gasps, and still she comes, hips bridged upward, whole body quivering and tensed. Her gasps have dissolved into a breathless silent scream, chin trembling, tears pooling her tight-squeezed eyes.
And then she gasps for breath, finally, sucking in a ragged lungful of oxygen. “Oh my fuck, Thai. I’m dead.” She goes limp, boneless.
“Oh my fuck,” I echo, laughing, sinking back to sit on my heels. “That’s a new one.”
“That was a hell of an orgasm,” she says, then cranes her head up just enough to meet my eye. “Come up here.”
I stand up. Round the side of the table, plant my hands on either side of her face. “Hi.”
She scratches my jaw. “Thank you.”
I frown and laugh. “Why are you thanking me?”
“For all of this. For the candles, the rose. The books. The absolutely incredible sex. The bath. The massage. The orgasm.” A happy sigh. “That was a really, really good orgasm.”
She pulls my face down and kisses me. “Mmm. You taste like me. Not sure how I feel about that.” Another kiss. “Kinda tangy.”
I laugh. “I love the way you taste. Honestly, I do. You’re sweet as sugar.”
She hums the chords of a recent popular song involving a certain melon and sugar, and I laugh. She reaches her arms up around me and clings to my neck. “Take me to
bed and hold me.”
I lift her in my arms, and her nose nuzzles against my neck—she inhales, and sighs, as if the scent of me is reassuring, comforting. Holds tight. When I set her on the bed and pull back the covers, she just watches me, and waits as I go around blowing out all the candles—and let me say, it takes almost as long to blow them all out as it did to light them. Eventually, all the tea lights are out, and I climb into bed next to Delia. She rolls toward me, reaching for me; her head goes onto my chest, her thigh over mine. Hand on my belly. Breathing soft, slow.
“Be here when I wake up, ’kay?” Her voice is already muzzy and faint.
“I will be. I promise.”
I have an arm around her, underneath her, cupping her hip. Somehow, my other hand finds hers, and I cradle her hand inside me, as if sheltering it, protecting it.
She’s soft as silk, warm as a summer wind. Flesh and curves against me. I’m hypersensitive to every point of contact between our bodies.
I assume she’s asleep based on her breathing, so I’m surprised when she speaks.
“Thai?”
“Hmm?” My own voice is drowsy; the comfort of her in my arms is like intoxication, but infinitely better.
“Don’t be scared.”
“Huh?”
A pause. The words sound like they’re bubbling up from the depths of her, unfiltered as she tumbles into sleep. “Don’t be scared, Thai…”
“Of what, honey? What would I be scared of?”
She nestles closer. Nothing has ever been more right than this, her and me. “I think I love you.”
Everything inside me contracts, clenches. I know I go tense.
“Don’t say anything.” This is a faint whisper. More asleep than awake.
“Delia…”
Her hand leaves the shelter of my hand, drifts up. Finds my face, my jaw, pats me. Scratches. Rests there. “I know. We have forever. It’s okay.”
I’m spinning.
Don’t be scared…I think I love you.
I am scared.
But more than I’m scared, I crave her.
I…
I crave her affection. I crave her touch. Her kisses. Her body.
I crave her love.
The Parent Trap Page 25